


Back With a Thunderclap

by highwayKing



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: But It Gets Dark, Character Death, Don't want to spoil anything, FrankenStan AU, Gen, bad way to cop with grief, messing with the death, more tags will be added as we go on, mostly in fidds' point of view, other characters might be added in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highwayKing/pseuds/highwayKing
Summary: Fiddleford had a gut feeling the moment he saw Stanford that he was up to no good. And oh boy was he right.
Now, mostly driven by friendly concern and a handful of pity he delves back into the dangerous world of Stanford Pines to once again assist him, this time in the seemingly futile attempt in resurrecting his brother who was found dead before his time. 
From the beginning he knew he was going to regret it from the start. But he didn’t expected the mess he now got on his hands.





	1. What's in The Basement?

**Author's Note:**

> So I got a bit of a free time on my hand and I decided to start a project I wanted to work on for a while now. This is arodudejude‘s Frankenstan Au that I really liked and planed to do a moderate sized fic about it. I don’t know how many time I will have to work on it since real life demands attention right now, but I hope you enjoy reading it and I’ll write the next chapter as soon as I can. 
> 
> (It’s possible that that might be tomorrow, but I have a lot of projects I have to finish. We will see.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford discovers something he really shouldn't have seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is a bit short. I hope to do longer ones in the future.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

Fiddleford knew that there was something going on. It was a gut feeling that told him so, the same primal feeling that warned him of danger whenever he was walking in the woods with Stanford searching for one mystical creature or another. Usually when he got this feeling he turned around and there was a giant monster staring right down at them so he learned to trust it.

Now, he didn’t have this warning sign ever since he had quit working for Ford. He was still in town, however. His wife and son grew to love the town ever since they had moved here so there was no reason to move.

It didn’t come as a surprise when he hardly saw Stanford around town. The man must have return to his research after they had the portal dismantled. A shiver shook Fiddleford just by thinking about it. He still had nightmares time to time about what he saw on the other side. But thankfully his partner wasn’t as dense about the situation as he usually was.

Ford took him seriously and, although with an obvious bleeding heart, he agreed to take the thing apart and never attempt making an interdimensional gate ever again.

They parted ways and Fiddleford barely heard anything from the scientist.

Of course he had seen him around town once or twice a week, but that wasn’t much, and he didn’t have the chance to talk with him. While he was still mad at him for making a deal with a demon that wanted to bring the end of the world and involuntarily scared him for life, he still considered Ford a friend.

A friend who he avoided for nearly two months now.

Last time he had seen Ford he had been carrying some grocery bags. It was good to know that at least he was taking care of himself. However, the bags under his eyes were a telltale sign that he wasn’t sleeping regularly. Again.

He still wouldn’t be too worried if he had not seen Ford walk straight into a lamp post.

It was clear that the man was up to something again and it was Fiddleford’s unfortunate duty to find out what that was.

That’s why he stood before the woodland cabin in the middle of a beautiful afternoon. He really didn’t want to go in in case his fears were correct and Ford was really knee deep in some voodoo jinx. But, honestly, who else would stop his self-destructing ways if not his very own (former) assistant.

He knocked politely, then once again after he didn’t get an immediate answer. After five minutes of knocking he decided to just enter.

It was typical of Ford to ignore his surroundings when he was engrossed in a project. He didn’t knew why he expect him to answer at all.

Looking around the house he could see that Stanford was nowhere in sight. The house however looked like a mess. He couldn’t help but sigh. If it wasn’t for Fiddleford Ford wouldn’t even clean his own home. The man can have the world’s best mind, but he forever will be a child in his eyes who has to be looked after 24/7. Seriously, how hard is it to be a little tidy, just a little bit?

Fiddleford walked into the kitchen with the faint hope of finding his ex-employer sipping coffee. Instead he was met by a pile of papers and books stacked on the dining table along with countless cups that seemed to have contained coffee on one point in time.

He sighed, here we go again.

Now it was evident that Ford was working on something. Fiddleford walked to the table to take a look at the pile. At least he can find out what Ford is doing.

To his surprise the stack contained nothing but research of the human anatomy. That was a bit odd. Last he remembered Ford didn’t majored in biology and if it didn’t included some kind of monster then it didn’t interested him not even the slightest. So it was strange seeing so many anatomy books lying around.

First he thought that he wanted to broaden his field of knowledge. That would be a very Ford thing to do. But digging further he found some different books that had a much darker theme than the function of the human body.

That still wouldn’t be a problem. Ford dealt with the supernatural which included horrific monsters, ghost and demons and who knows whatever else that he was keeping even from his own assistant. Finding books mentioning the more obscure and darker subject in the paranormal field wasn’t all that strange. However, what Fiddleford was holding in his hands were more alarming then he thought it should be.

He found books upon books upon notes of theories on how to bring back people from the death alongside with some personal notes from Ford himself.   

Fiddleford looked at his findings in horror. Was this really what he was doing? Was he really trying to raise the death? And for what?

He knew that there was only on way to find out.

Gulping hard he turned to the elevator.

Fiddleford was hesitant to go down to that cursed basement. But he was certain that he would find the other down there working on his horrifying project.

This was the point where he could just nope out of the whole thing, go home and forget about it. Let Stanford do whatever he was doing and deal with the consequences latter. But he couldn’t possibly sit in the comfort of his own home not knowing for sure what Ford was doing. No doubt with his intellect he could raise the death for good – not like the butchered attempt when he summoned a bunch of undead zombies and they had to sing to make their heads explode.

But the last time he tried to write history a demon almost got a chance to sink his claws into their universe.

Fiddleford had to face it, he had little choice but to check up on him. Make sure that there was no imminent danger hanging over their heads.      

He pressed the button and the cabinet started to make its way up. That meant that Ford really was down there doing who knows what. The last thing Fiddleford wanted to see was Ford alongside bunch of zombies or other hideous creatures.

He had a slight flashback to the creatures on the other side of the portal, he shivered.   

With a pinging sound the elevator arrived and Fiddleford stepped inside desperately praying that he is only being paranoid.

He arrived too soon for his liking.

Fiddleford stepped out of the elevator fearing the worst. However the basement lab was rather quiet. The whole place was covered in darkness. Usually it was lit up by industrial sized lamps from above. Fidds remembered leaving them there when they dismantled the portal in case the space could be used for other purposes. However, instead of the giant light there was only a small amount of brightness coming much closer to the ground.

He walked out from the former control station – now just a barren room – and into the vaster basement. Just as he expected he found Ford there hunched over a table that had something big on it that was covered by a white sheet. A bright light was coming from the lamp towering above him letting him see whatever he was working on.

From this angle he couldn’t see what he was doing, but Fiddleford could see that countless surgical tools were laid out just in arms reach on a small table as well as a cooler box.

He walked closer, not wanting to back out if he had come this far. Although, Stanford hadn’t noticed him jet, he could easily turn around and pretend this whole thing didn’t happen. But if any then this was the time to be brave.

“Uh, Stanford?” that came out much more shaky then he had intended. “What are you doing?”

Ford jerked in his surprise dropping the scalpel that was in his hand. He turned to him with wide fearful eyes.

“Fiddleford?! What are you doing here?!”

That’s when Fiddleford got a good look at the pale corpse with a face hauntingly similar to the man standing above him. He could see the cut on his chest with far too little blood that exposed his ribs. Below he could see tissue that could only be the heart and lungs.

Then Fiddleford did the only reasonable thing that he could do. He fainted.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapters are planed out, but feel free to ask anything if you want.
> 
> You can go to my tumblr page where it's also uploaded:  
> http://highway-king.tumblr.com/


	2. Out With It, Ford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or Fiddleford tries to get the truth out of his emotionally distraught ex-employer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, that's all I had time for.
> 
> Next chapter: Story time!

Fiddleford woke up latter in the evening. He found himself in the guest room that he had used countless times when he was stuck working overtime with Ford. As he observed this was the only part of the house that was untouched by the chaos that Ford called research.

Speaking of Stanford, where was he? Last time he saw him he was opening up a dead body. Fiddleford really hoped that that was only some sort or hallucination or that he dreamed it up somehow.

He got up and contemplated his next action. Clearly Ford knew that he had been here and he knew that he could just sneak out and never mention what he saw ever again. Ford certain would never come looking for him; at least he didn’t think he would. But with him still considering Ford a friend he was obligated to question his actions. If he had come this far he wasn’t going to back down that easily.

Collecting his courage and determination he could muster and left the safety of the guest room to go looking for his former partner.

He didn’t have to look for him for too long. Fiddleford found him where the thought he would be, in the kitchen drinking coffee and reading over some notes of his.

Fiddleford cleared his throat to bring attention to himself.

Still Ford got startled and nearly choked on his drink. “Oh, Fiddleford, you’re up,” he said between coughs. “How are you feeling?”

Just by looking at him Fiddleford could tell that he was nervous as hell. Good. Then he could have the upper hand. Characteristically, just how he had seen from his mother when he was a young lad, Fiddleford crossed his arms, lifted his chin slightly up and looked down at Stanford with a disapproving gaze.

Ford was a confident man, but under the scrutiny of his friend he started to shrink. “I suppose you remember-… earlier? About the, uhm, body?”

“The _dead_ body?” he hardened his gaze.

In turn Ford pulled in his neck and looked everywhere but at Fiddleford. He knew that he was in deep trouble. “I can explain. It’s not what it seems!”

“Not what it seems? Cause I read your notes. I saw what you were doing. And it seems an awfully lot like you were trying to raise the death.”  

Ford didn’t answer, but he looked guiltier with every word that Fiddleford spoke. He started feeling bad for him but that didn’t stop Fidds to give him his piece of mind, about how he can be so irresponsible and what would he even do if something went horribly wrong. He made sure that he knew what he was thinking exactly.

“And why would you even try to do something so stupid? Do you feel like you have to prove something?”

“I’m not trying to prove anything!” Ford tried to defend himself.

“Then why would you want to bring that guy back to life? Can’t you just let him rest in peace?”

Ford sighed. “I have a really good reason to do it,” he said, but for some reason he didn’t wanted to continue. He became strangely somber, but the guilty expression remained.

It made Fiddleford think. While he could not imagine any situation that would justify his actions, he understood what a powerful motivation grief could be. It can make you do things that you would never imagine and would certainly regret doing latter.

Although, right now Fiddleford felt that both of them would have a much easier time if Ford turned to alcohol instead of necromancy, like normal people do. He certainly would feel much comfortable having to deal with a man who looked at the bottom of a glass too much too many times instead of trying to deal with whatever this was.

“…Did you know him?” he decided to ask the easier questions first.

Then he remembered how unsettlingly similar the man looked to Ford. Although that could easily be the trick of the light or he didn’t had a better looked at the face and his mind jumped to an immediate assumption, tying it to something similar. But that didn’t stop him to suddenly having a really bad feeling about this.

For a moment Ford looked conflicted. What Fiddleford would give if he could see what was going in on his head right now. Ford’s shoulders slumped.

“Yes I know him,” he confessed.  

Fiddleford pulled out a chair and sat down beside his friend. He put his elbow up on the table although there was barely any space for him. It was impossible to stay mad at him for long, not when he looked like a kicked puppy.

“What happened?” he asked and Ford sighed once again deeply.

Only now did Fiddleford notice what a horrible shape he is in. He looked like he was going to fall over any minute, he could barely keep his eyes open and his voice was quiet as if he couldn’t even muster the energy to talk properly. He really should just grab him and drag him to the closest bed and tie him down to get him to rest. But first Fiddleford had to find out what was going on and he should just do that here and now when Ford was willing to give up the information, as he was too tired to do anything else.

Yes, he had bad feelings about the whole situation.  But now he had more to be concerned about then his ex-employer’s possible god complex.

He certainly seemed disturbed. Whoever this man was that looked so terrifying like Ford before his mind’s eye must have been someone important to his friend.

And here’s where the problem lied.  

As far as Fiddleford could remember there wasn’t anyone in the scientist’s life who was worth mentioning. Sure, he knew about his mother and a couple things about his thick headed father, and he knew there was a younger brother somewhere in the mix who was just a baby when Ford started college and met him. But that was it.

He never heard a thing about another family member or a possible friend back in New Jersey. He was always just by himself. Just Ford against the big bad wide world.

So Fiddleford couldn’t help to wonder who this man was and what importance he held that prompted Ford to go to these lengths to get him back.

Ford started to fidget with his fingers and bit his lip. It was strange to see Ford who was most of the time the perfect picture of confidence to be so uncertain, dear say afraid to speak.

Fiddleford reached over and patted him on the back. It turned out more awkward then he intended because he had to reach over a pile of anatomic papers to reach him and he had to half climb on the table to do so. But Ford looked up, a bit confused and searching Fiddleford for any sign that could tell him what actually this usually friendly gesture meant. 

Fiddleford did his best to give him his best reassuring face.

“It’s alright. You can tell me.”

Ford hesitated. He looked down at his hands then up to Fiddleford and then down to the books and papers he had been researching. Then to his surprise he glanced down to hallway.

First Fiddleford thought that he was looking in the basements direction. However, following his gaze he realized that he was looking at the phone on the wall.

“Well” Ford started “It began with a phone call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I have no idea when the next chapter is going to be here, but I'm sure I will find some time somewhere to write a bit.
> 
> See you next time!


	3. It Happened a Week Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford tells a story.

After Fiddleford quit his job and the portal had been taken care of Ford had returned to his usual life before he had met Bill. The threat of the demon still lingered around and Ford had to admit, it made him uneasy even to think about it. But he hardened his mind and fortified his home from the invader and finally after a long time he could say that he felt safe in his house once again.

It took off a huge burden of his shoulders that the world was safe from destruction. But the sight of the empty basement always woke a pang of sadness inside him.

It was a little guilty feeling. He longed back to the intellectual challenge that was the building of an inter-dimensional gateway, even if he had a 'muse' to help him out at parts where he was stuck. But now, that everything was back to the normal - well as normal as it could be - everyday struggle with the supernatural he couldn't help but feel that he wasn't challenged enough.

Don't get it wrong, he still loved every part of it, but he felt like there wasn't anything new to discover.

There were days that he had to walk miles into the forest just to find some traces of some elusive creature that he of course wouldn't be finding anytime soon.

It was getting a bit frustrating. Especially after he had so many things to do. Now it was as if he was doing nothing all day.

Then one stormy night something unexpected happened.

Ford was sitting in the kitchen over some papers that were full of rushed penning that he tried to make out – some old work that he tried to make sense of now. Outside it started raining and the pitter-patter of the drops on the window started getting on his nerves. He even started chewing on his pen.

Then the phone started ringing.

Ford groaned. If there was something that he hated the most that were phone calls. He already had trouble judging people when being face to face with them. Put that person on the other side of a line and that trouble instantly doubled.

And by the way, who was calling him anyway? He hadn't talked with anyone in ages and he doubted that they would want to call him in the middle of the night like that, and everything else he got in mail.

Ford was tapping his pen on the table. But whoever was on the other side wasn't giving up.

Sighing, he got up to pick up the phone. When he spoke he hurried not to seem as frustrated as he really was. "Hello, this is Stanford Pines. How can I help you?"

A bored woman spoke on the other side. "Excuse me for disturbing you so late in the night. But I have to request your assistance with identifying the body of a man found dead this morning."

That was the very last thing Ford had expected to hear. He was prepared to hear from his mother, even from his father or about some unresolved issues with this or that kind of paperwork. But this. "Uhm, can I ask how you get this number?" he asked nervous. He was afraid that he is being thrown into really deep water here.

"Your number was found in the pocket of the man, sir," the woman said on the same monotone, tired tone. It was apparent that she wanted to be over with this as fast as she could that she could finally go home. Ford didn't want to hold her up, but he wanted to know, he just had. "We only request you to identify the man so that we can contact any family he might have."

Ford understood that. He can imagine how horrible it would be to lose someone and never hear from them again. At least the man deserves to be put to rest by the people that loved him. But at the same time he didn't wanted to be involved.

"Didn't the police fund an ID?" he asked out of nowhere.

"I'm sorry," the woman said. "But I can't provide you with that information."

Ford sighed. After some pointless questions he finally agreed. He got an address and agreed to get there as soon as possible. To be honest, he could have refused, but for some odd reason he decided to go.

Maybe it was because he was bored and was desperate for some kind of distraction, literally anything. Or maybe it was something else, he felt a small pang of guilt, he didn't know where it came from or why all of the sudden did he remembered of his brother.

Now and then he came to his mind, always followed with a disgusting bitter taste in his mouth. But this time it was different. He didn't even thought about what he would do if he got a call that his brother was dead, just like that out of the blue. And this man could be someone's brother, someone's son, and he felt like they deserved to know it. And he felt like he is responsible. If his number was found on him, then there must be some sort of connection.

Next morning he was sitting on a train on his way to the big city.

The ride was mind numbing. Thankfully he is bought three different books with him just to pass the time. When he arrived he was through with them, that's how bored he was.

He had no intention to stray around the city and waste his time so he caught a cab. The moment he said the address the driver became really chatty. He couldn't blame him for being curious, if he was in the same situation in what appears to be a boring job he too would be trying to pry for some gossip. So he told him as much as he knew, mainly just to shut him up. But also to get it off his chest. Thankfully, the driver didn't bother him to the rest of the way, which he was grateful because it turned out that the police station was on the other side of the city.

When he stood before the station's door he was more nervous than he ever was in his life. A gut feeling told him that this is going to go horrible, on way or another.

He calmed his nerves the best he could then he stepped inside.

The front lobby was busy, more so then he would have expected, but then again, this was a big city so stuff happens all the time.

It took him a couple of minutes to get the information he needed. He was mostly pushed out of the way by both officers and citizens that had more urgent businesses to take care off. Finally a nice young lady by the reception ordered him into the office to a desk where an older man was waiting for him.

When Ford arrived he was reading through some documents with a frown on his face.

"Officer Jefferson?"

The man looked up still frowning. Then his eyes widened in surprise and his mouth opened in a silent 'oh'. He glanced down at the documents then back at them man before him.

Ford became nervous again.

He coughed into his hand. "Uhm, I'm here to identify the unknown man, sir."

The officer, Jefferson, was still staring at him. Then he collected himself and pushed the documents back into the drawer of the desk. "Yes, off course," he extended his hand for a shake and introduced himself.

Ford did the same and Officer Jefferson lead him down the hallway to a small mostly barren room. He was told to sit down and another man entered shortly, he explained to him that he is going to be shown some pictures of the deceased. He could take his time answering and he didn't want him to stress himself. If there was something that made him upset he should tell him immediately.

Ford nodded along with everything and agreed to everything.

The pictures were given to him face down. He could flip it anytime he was ready. Ford didn't wait, now he thought he should have. He flipped it over without second thought as soon as it was given to him.

Maybe if he was patient and took a deep breath before he wouldn't feel like he was suffocating right there and then.

The face was off a man who he hadn't seen in ages. He changed so much, but still he recognized him immediately. He was so pale, and his hair long and scruffy, but it was him. It was Stanley.

If he hadn't been sitting he would have needed to.

The next thing he knew was that he was furious and he demanded information.

Reluctant, but Officer Jefferson told him that the man had been in a car accident. He was speeding down a road and he must have lost control on the vehicle. He crashed into a tree after going down a slope. This happened in the night on a remote area outside of the city. A jogger found the wreckage the following morning.

Ford couldn't believe it. In his mind it was impossible that his tick headed, brash and selfish brother to be dead just like that. He kept on demanding, he wanted to see the body to be hundred percent sure that it was him.

It took him some arguing and getting past a sullen doctor to get into the morgue and get a look at the corpse.

But it was him, without a doubt.

The next couple of minutes he spent in a daze. He filled out paper work that explained his relationship with the man. Then without thinking too much he arranged the body to be transported to Gravity Falls. He found that the paperwork and talking with dull business man like people who had a lot of sympathy to him took off the edge of his shock.

But when it was over he found himself back at home with a coffin on its way and him not having any idea what to do but having twice as much grief and regret to make up for it. 

Then as a spark of inspiration, an idea struck him. He didn't need to deal with any of it. He can just fix it, simple as that. But he needed a lot of work, not to mention the research he is going to need to do beforehand. He didn't even know where to start.

But first of all he needed something to preserve the body. So Ford started working on that. The rest he can figure it out after he made sure that the corpse wasn't going to decay anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was all my free time folks! Hope you liked reading.  
> I was writing every chance I got, but it didn't help that I rewrote this chapter three times before I was satisfied with it.
> 
> I try to deliver the next chapter a bit sooner.


	4. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fiddleford makes a big decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally reread it so enjoy reading!  
> Next chapter will be a bit shorter and will be up soon.

Fiddleford wanted to say so many things to his colleague. But the truth was he was lost of words. There were so many things he wanted to tell him, but none of them were the last bit appropriate nor did he knew where to start.

Firstly, what the damned ever loving hell was he even doing?! Did he go insane in the couple of weeks he hadn't seen him or what?!

Now that he thinks about it, he could see that happening, but that was beside the point.

Secondly, since when did he have a brother? A twin brother nonetheless, and why didn't he heard about him sooner? He was pretty sure that that's something a person can't go about just not mentioning once or twice by accident or something.

Fiddleford searched his mind for any fleeting memory of conversations, little trivial information here and there that Ford might have spilled and he missed to give it any importance. Something along the line of 'yeah, my twin and I used to do that a lot' or 'my brother hated that'. But his mind was drawing a blank.

However hard he tried he couldn't seem to remember ever hearing of a Stanley Pines. And Fiddleford was sure that he wouldn’t just forget something like that.

He was getting more and more frustrated with his friend.

For a moment he thought that Ford was lying to him. He had no good reason to believe that, but Ford had pulled some pretty crazy stunts in the past, a bit of lying would only be a mild offense at this point, completely forgettable.

Nonetheless, Fiddleford was ready to give him a piece of his mind if Ford hadn't happened to face plant the table with the speed of a light minute.

It was quite startling. Fiddleford even jumped from his chair in surprise.

"Ford?" he asked cautious in case some crazy spell had taken over him, or some voodoo junk. He had to be careful, more than before. He learned that on the hard way.

However, it turned out that Ford simply passed out.

Well, he should have seen it coming.

But what was he to do with him now? Trying to shake him up didn't work and he didn't have the heart to kick him in the shin. But he won’t be able to drag him to his bed, heck; he didn't even think that he could get him to the couch.

He wanted to leave him there. By all means he deserves a cranky neck for scaring him half to death.

Yes, that's it. He had enough; Ford could deal with this alone, could do whatever he wants and could even sleep wherever he wants. He is going home.

But before he left he threw a blanket over Stanford's shoulders. It covered him well enough so that he won’t be cold, and that had to suffice because Fiddleford didn’t have any more patients for this nonsense.

But, while he was driving home Fiddleford couldn't help but wonder if he was judging the man a bit too harsh. Behind the wheels his frustration disappeared. He found himself not being that angry at all. Because what is there to be mad about. Ford was only a grieving man trying to make the best of his current situation, or trying to fix a past mistake. Or who knows what else he is trying to do but he didn't wanted to harm anyone. He wasn't bad.

And what was he to do? Could he go on with his life knowing what’s going on in the little woodland cabin's basement?

He thought he could.

But now that he knew how deep Ford was in he wasn't sure if he could abandon him. As he was now he might even die if he was left alone.

Grudgingly, Fiddleford came to an agreement with himself.

He would help him, as he could, as far as he could. They were friends after all - even if this seemed to push the boundaries of how far friendships go. But he is giving himself a way out. Once it goes too far he is quitting like no one ever before.

He tried to calm himself with the thought that Ford was fighting a losing battle anyway. He was a geniuses but this was above him. Way, way above him.

So nothing is going to go wrong.

 

Next morning he arrived early. The dew wasn't even dried up from the grass, but the sun was shining and the birds were chirping as if nothing was wrong in the entire world.

But Fiddleford knew better.

He stepped into the cabin. Nothing moved, the sunshine fell into the darkened room.

He sighed. Everything was much the same as yesterday, but he didn't really expect that to change overnight.

Fiddleford walked into the kitchen. It was a mess, and now that he wasn't so anxious he could see the unwashed plates and countless coffee cups, both ceramic and plastic, littering the kitchen counter. Not even speaking about the trash thrown all about.

Ford was still sleeping by the table in the middle of this chaos. In the same position.

And there stood Fiddleford lost at what to do.

He was thinking about starting to clean up, but it was far too early for that. Instead he went and found a clean cup - there was one stuck in the far corner of the cupboard, - made himself some coffee and sat down at the table. He pulled a less sizable paper stack before him and started reading.

Even when he was half unconscious Ford still wrote in his neat hand writing, curling the letters elegantly. The only sign that he basically wrote this in his sleep was the way how the lines seemed to travel up or down, away from the perfect straight line he preferred.

No doubt Ford would have crumpled up the paper and start another one if he saw what mess he was making.

Putting that thought aside Fiddleford concentrated on the content of the curling lines.

It was impressive really; Ford had piled up an incredible amount of knowledge about the subject starting with theories going as far as necromancy and dark magic. Fiddleford hoped that those would not come in play. Every time Ford and magic were in the same equation the results were overwhelming, to say the least. 

Reading more and more he became intrigued. It looked like Ford had worked out some sort of theory. However, his calculations were off at some places and his line of thought seemed to make huge logical jumps, concluding one thing from another with seemingly no explanation. That could be a flow of thought, Fiddleford knew how Ford’s brilliant mind would run away with him and all that gets noted down are just some fragment of a whole intellectual roller-coaster ride. He had to interrogate him on some of this and they have to go through everything to see what was wrong and right.  

A strange nostalgic feeling got hold of Fiddleford. It was just when he first came to Gravity Falls on Ford’s request to build the portal. Back then everything seemed simpler, less life threatening.

A groan from his side warned Fiddleford that Ford was waking up.

He straightened and stretched instinctively. Then he groaned in pain and rubbed his sore neck. That was the worst, most annoying sort of pain Ford ever felt. It would follow him through the day and remind him what a fool he was to fall asleep in the first place.

He cursed himself. He should have been working not lazing off. What a disappointment.

Ford wanted to strand up but only then did his still sleep hazed mind realize that there was someone there with him. And that someone was Fiddleford.

Well if that wasn’t a surprise. Ford thought that after yesterday he wouldn’t even want to be bothered with him. So he was puzzled for why on Earth was he here? And why was he reading his embarrassingly messy research.

“Uhm, Fidds, what are you doing here?” he asked lamely.

Fiddleford looked up from the paper he was holding. “What does it look like?”

To be honest Ford had no idea what it looked like. So he shrugged.

“Well,” Fiddleford started as he reached for his coffee and took a sip from it. “I figured that no matter what I do or say or no matter what’s going to happen this is a project you won’t be giving up on anytime soon.” 

With that Ford could agree.

“So I’m going to stick around for a bit and help out. And to make sure you don’t die.”

“Would you really help me out?” Ford asked being touched by his friend’s kindness. “I deeply appreciate it, Fiddleford.”

“I have my conditions though,” Fiddleford said. “But that can wait. First, your calculations here are way, way off. Were you counting in your sleep or something?”

Ford blushed. “Is that so?”

He pulled his chair closer and looked over Fidds’ shoulder as the other pointed out the flaws in the equations and embarrassingly there were quite a few now that he looks at it with a fresh mind.

“You are right, Fidds. I have no idea how I could have thought that this was any good.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Fidds said drinking what was left of his coffee. “But we have to look through all of this just be sure.”

Both of them looked at the huge pile of paper and books horded on the table. This is going to take a long time.

“But first,” Fiddleford stood up. “We are cleaning this place. None of us can work in a mess like this.”

Ford groaned but he agreed with him.


End file.
